


If I'm Too Kind

by PeopleCoveredInFish



Series: How to be a Heartbreaker [2]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 04:33:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3754720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeopleCoveredInFish/pseuds/PeopleCoveredInFish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been fifteen days since he touched Hanamiya Makoto.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I'm Too Kind

It’s been fifteen days since he touched Hanamiya Makoto and Kiyoshi’s sitting in the stands at a Kirisaki Daiichi game, watching as their captain makes another floater shot and wondering if he ought to reevaluate his approach. Hanamiya has yet to notice him, Kiyoshi is reasonably sure, going by his distinctive inability to keep a poker face. 

They’re playing Senshinkan; doing a bang-up job of it, really—Kiyoshi has to smile at the pun. Hanamiya moves across the court and above the carnage, beyond reproach. To watch him is to be sewn up into the seams of deceit he stitches through the fabric of the match; to find yourself embroiled in his beautiful, terrible schemes. Kiyoshi can’t bring himself to feel disgusted. He knows Hanamiya too well for that. 

Hanamiya looks up into the stands and immediately subs himself out.

His increasingly frantic nods towards the doors of the stadium aren’t lost on Kiyoshi, but he takes his time getting up and moving down through the stands. “What are you _doing_ ,” hisses Hanamiya, arms crossed, once he’s in hissing distance. 

“Talking to you,” says Kiyoshi. 

“Don’t be an idiot,” Hanamiya snaps, “why are you here?” 

“Just wanted to check in,” he says, and, then, with a nod towards Hanamiya’s agitated state, “so, is there somewhere we can talk?” 

Hanamiya murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like ‘asshole,’ lost under the clink of the metal bar against the door as he pushes it open. They’re outside, and Hanamiya leads him to a secluded lot around the back of the building, next to the bins. 

“So?” 

Hanamiya looks up at him expectantly, his eyebrows cinched together in a way Kiyoshi would readily admit is debilitatingly cute. He could lean into this encounter with everything he has, observe Hanamiya’s reaction speed and attitude, or he could relax a little and let Hanamiya come to him. Something about the latter is particularly appealing right now, with the afternoon sun slanting down on Hanamiya’s hair, casting him in a deep golden haze, eyes lightened in their green. 

“I’ve been thinking about what you said.” 

Hanamiya is visibly trying not to fidget, hands caught up in the fabric of his jersey. 

“Okay,” he replies, noncommittally. 

“I think it’s going to rain,” says Kiyoshi, looking up at the sky and noting the feel of Hanamiya’s gaze on his exposed neck. 

“Fuck the weather up the ass,” is the reply, calm as ever, “what about what I said?” 

“I’d been waiting to hear it from you.” 

Hanamiya looks at him, that blade-sharp mind whirring just behind his eyes. Kiyoshi thinks about the bag he has in his jacket pocket and grins. “Hey, I brought something to share.” 

He’s halfway through rolling the thing before Hanamiya says, “Is that...you’re fucking kidding me.” 

“Got a light?” 

Hanamiya rolls his eyes. “Not in my basketball shorts, no.” 

“Nevermind, found it!” 

He lights the joint with a click, secreting the lighter back into the depths of his pockets, watching Hanamiya for any signs of movement. Hanamiya is standing quite still, a little too stiff to be casual, and Kiyoshi inhales deeply before offering it, wordlessly, to him. He looks at Kiyoshi but takes it without hesitation, and puts it to his mouth. 

No sooner does he breathe in than he’s coughing uncontrollably, practically spasming with the force of his exhalations. “Woah there,” says Kiyoshi, rubbing his back, “I...didn’t realize.” 

There’s a shadow of rage in Hanamiya’s bleary eyes, but he submits to the light massage. “I’ll break your wrists.”

“Here,” says Kiyoshi, “there’s another way we can do this.” 

Without another word, he breathes in, leans down, and kisses Hanamiya, exhaling the smoke into his surprised open mouth. Hanamiya coughs slightly and takes it in. “This way, we won’t waste any,” Kiyoshi says. 

He caresses Hanamiya’s lower lip before taking another puff from the joint and pressing their mouths together a second time. Hanamiya moves with it, his hands in Kiyoshi’s hair, nipping at his tongue, breaking apart to inhale more from between his fingers. 

Kiyoshi thinks he looks beautiful like this, strung through with tautness and heat, and they’ve just finished the joint when Hanamiya grabs his hand and presses it against his crotch—hard, and how had he missed that—eyes sleepy with lust, and says, “want to?” 

“Bad idea,” says Kiyoshi, and he’s unzipping himself, drawing them both out and flush against each other, enveloping them in his hand. Hanamiya nearly collapses into a sigh, high in his haze, but catches himself just as his face blooms red. Kiyoshi braces him with his other hand, backing him against the brick wall. 

There’s something about Hanamiya here, hair strung across his cheeks and forehead in mislaid tangles, mouth fluttering open, painted with desire—it edges Kiyoshi on, crackles through the core of him, he’s kissing every inch of Hanamiya that he can reach and when he comes it branches through him like warm wine.

Hanamiya wipes his mouth. It begins to rain.

Three months will pass before they meet again. 


End file.
